tread the icy path, slowly
by ancarett
Summary: Some traitor part wills her to give in but another voice chides and that's the voice that Pepper heeds.


A/N: The title comes from Vivaldi's EMFour Seasons/EM "L'Inverno (Winter)":

_We tread the icy path, slowly and carefully, for fear of tripping and falling,_

_Then turn abruptly, slip, crash on the ground and, rising, hasten on across the ice lest it crack and break._

* * *

He's been surlier than usual today. Pepper knows why, just as she's known every year since the first time it happened. Tony Stark might forget her birthday but other anniversaries seem burnt into his brain like a brand in the flesh.

But even the smoothest and most skilled of personal assistants finds it impossible to casually offer her boss condolences on the anniversary of the death of his parents in a fiery car crash. All she can do is ensure that no appointment on the day's schedule is vital and brace for the fallout.

When he takes the suit out before it's even noon, Pepper breathes a sigh of relief, thinking that he's discovered a different way of coping. But rescuing hostages from a guerrilla force armed with Stark Industries weapons in South America doesn't take more than five of the twenty-four hours in this endless day. Pepper never thought she'd rue the day that he spent less time in the suit rather than more.

Rhodey calls and she hears the frustration in his voice. Pepper doesn't promise him that she'll get Tony to return his calls. They both know that some things are really and truly beyond her grasp.

Instead, Pepper eavesdrops when Tony's back in the workshop, firing off orders to Jarvis and pouring himself a neat scotch as soon as the suit's stowed away. A flood of terse emails pour into her inbox, declining every single one of the appointments and requests pending for the rest of the afternoon. When Pepper heads for the staircase, Jarvis saves her the embarrassment of banging against the access panel by warning her that Mr. Stark has secured the workshop against all personnel until further orders.

She nods and doesn't let it show how much it hurts to be "all personnel" and not an exception, simply returning to the couch where she holds down the fort while the sun sinks lower on the horizon.

Not once does she hear his voice.

Not until evening, when shades of deep blue are beginning to colour the sky over the ocean and she's abandoned any pretence of work to stand at the window and fret. That's when he appears; drink clinking in his hand and the scent of liquor heavy on his breath that brushes her neck.

"I paid a fucking shitload for this view and for what? I'm either down in the workshop or at the office or, these days, off in the suit. I never see it. I should just wall up the windows or move to Omaha."

Pepper permits herself a wry smile. "I hear Omaha can be beautiful." Secretly, she doubts it can be half as beautiful as the seascape that stretches out before them, however little time either has to admire it.

"Yeah. So can anything in the dark and after enough bourbon." Tony tosses back the last of his drink with a loud gasp then casually drops the heavy crystal on a tall table near Pepper's hip. The tumbler wobbles precariously and he makes no effort to steady it, although Pepper notices that his hand remains hovering close to her pinstriped skirt. The heat of his body is a palpable force.

She crosses her arms and hugs herself close, keeping her head resolutely turned towards the window. Even though the room is perfectly comfortable, she feels her flesh prickle in reaction to him. Tony's hand remains where it is, fingers flexing idly.

"Remind me what normal people do on a night like this, Potts." His voice is smooth, deep and tempting.

Pepper tilts her head slightly to look at the night sky while she fumbles for an answer. Mistake. She can feel him so close behind her that if she breathes deeply, they'll be in full body contact. Some traitor part wills her to give in but another voice chides and that's the voice that Pepper heeds.

"I wouldn't know, Mr. Stark. My life can hardly be called normal, these days." Pepper forces a note of bright and careless cheerfulness into her voice, but knows that her body belies that with the rigid stance of her shoulders and the nervous shifting of her arms.

Behind her, Tony sighs, initiating the briefest touch of her shoulder blades to his chest. Pepper jerks forward towards the window, feet wobbling coltishly on her heels before she is poised and balanced, if breathing somewhat erratically.

She's turned so that she's facing her boss. _Her boss_. The faint glow of the arc reactor brings up the lines of his face in harsh relief and Pepper can read nothing in his expression. She suspects that's not the same for his part as she watches his lips quirk in a predatorial smirk and he raises his hand to almost touch her face.

"Normal's highly overrated," he says. And coming from a man whose life has been a string of million-dollar homes and one-night stands, she supposes that makes sense to him, perhaps. And for someone who's used to drowning his sorrows in booze and thrills and sex, this reaching out to a woman has to be second nature and cannot be anything more.

Pepper swallows stiffly as his gaze focuses on her. She can read the future in that look: a kiss that doesn't go uncompleted, a demanding and desperate embrace in which he consumes her as he takes her between the satin-cool sheets. Pepper's mind shies away from the heated response her body generates at the thought of their coming together and that chiding voice returns; reminds her that, however frantic and fulfilling the night might be, it will inevitably be followed by a morning that she cannot face: waking as the abandoned woman in an empty bed. And after that there will be no Pepper Potts, but an empty husk of self that cannot go forward and cannot go back.

And it's too much. Pepper gasps and is around the sofa without a thought, gathering up her papers and projects, bunching them up in her hand as she slips them into the briefcase along with her tablet. She straightens, clutching the case to her chest; stares at Tony and wonders what to say.

He's still watching her but the quirk of his lips has turned sharp and thin. While Pepper struggles for coherency, he glances upwards. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?" the AI instantly replies.

"There's gotta be a party going on somewhere in Malibu. Tell Happy to get the limo fired up in ten minutes while I get dressed. I'm going out."

"Certainly, sir."

Tony locks eyes with Pepper. "Don't wait up," he advises. Then he spins on his heel and heads off to the bedroom.

Pepper releases her death-grip on the case and stands motionless for a few long moments.

"Is there anything you need, Miss Potts?"

Jarvis's dulcet tones snap Pepper out of her daze. She glances down to the case, smoothing the black leather with a hand that shakes slightly. "No, Jarvis, I'm fine. I'll. . . I'll see you in the morning."

"I look forward to that."

Pepper takes one look towards the closed bedroom door then heads away from the hushed living room. Her heels beat out a sharp staccato as she walks down the corridor. When she reaches the front door she resists the urge to turn back. Instead, she hurries through the archway and pushes the heavy slab closed behind her in a silent arc. Pepper rests her hand on the cool lines of the door frame, marveling at how clearly the tendons and freckles stand out in the moonlight against her pale skin.

She lets her hand linger there for the longest time before she makes her way to the car and drives away.


End file.
